


You Make My Heart Pound Like A Bass Drum

by dudeihavenoaccent



Category: Red vs. Blue, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, M/M, nork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 17:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4488771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dudeihavenoaccent/pseuds/dudeihavenoaccent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wash is preparing for his first gig with his band, and his older brother, York, thinks maybe he'll just have to stop by to embarrass him; but never would he ever expect the drummer to be tall, blonde, and just his type.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Make My Heart Pound Like A Bass Drum

**Author's Note:**

> I used probablyagentyork.tumblr.com's name headcannons, for anyone interested. This one goes out to all the Nork lovers, you ain't alone <3

“Wash, will you shut up, already? I'm trying to work!”

The demand was carried up the stairs along with the pounding of footsteps- war was about to begin.

“York, I swear, don't open the door, you're gonna knock over my-”

The war began with the crash of the amp, electricity echoing through mesh as the older of the brothers regretted letting his impulsiveness lead to such a lecherous outcry of reverberated static. As the sound faded into obscurity, York's hands fell slowly to his sides, shit-eating grin growing on his lips. Wash was not nearly as amused.

“DUDE- you could've broke my amp! What the hell? I don't break your shit when you're playing your music too loud!”

“Uh yeah, but that's because I listen to actual music, like, by professional musicians. Not amateur teenagers learning chords in their bedrooms. Why are you practicing so often, anyhow? I know they say that it makes perfect but I thought by now you'd realize how lost a cause you are. Guess I was wrong.”

“Screw you, York,” Wash began, bringing the strap of his bass guitar over his head and off of him and placing it on his bed, “and for your information, the miniscule amount you happen to have, my band and I are performing at Mother of Invention tonight, so I wanted to make sure I knew all of the songs well enough not to fuck up-”

“Wait, you have a band? Since fucking when? Who would wanna hang out with a seventeen year old dork who still falls for this?”

York pointed at his brother's shirt collar, prompting Wash to look down at his finger. Smiling, York pulled his hand up, hitting Wash in the face with the extended finger. Wash took a step back in frustration.

“Fuck off. And I'll have you know the band consists of Carolina, Allison, and their friend.”

“Wait, you're in a band with Carry and Tex? Since when do they play anything close to music?”

“Carolina sings and Allison plays lead guitar. The drummer is a friend of theirs, blonde guy named-”

“CARRY FUCKING SINGS?”

Wash hung his head in mock exasperation as he moved past York and out of the room, the latter still laughing his head off at the thought of one of his most hardcore friends singing indie anthems.

 _I guess that's enough practice,_ Wash thought to himself.

 

* * *

 

Mother of Invention was one of the many clubs around town that advertised as “not like the other mainstream, Starbucks joints”; in essence, it played the part of the alt hotspot in a sea of commercialized music. Tugging on the people's inner hipster- York admired the marketing strategy. It was sly, deliberate, and open, just like him.

He paid the cover to the bouncer, Lionel Maine -a former football player from his old high school-, and made his way inside. It was dark, with fluorescent purple and orange lights creating a neon-but-not-quite-lazer-tag atmosphere. Walking over to the bar, he made sure not to disturb Sarge, the old vet who was always trying to spew this and that about the Second Amendment and gun control. He ordered a beer and then made his way over to center stage, where he recognized a certain redhead and a blonde mop top setting things up.

“Carry, Davey, what's up guys?” York sarcastically waved at the pair as they turned towards him. Wash's eyes widened in surprise and annoyance.

“York, what the fuck are you doing here?” Wash looked left to the sound of the voice in time to see Carolina's neutral expression morph into one of aggressive disbelief.

“I came to see my favourite dorks play some amateurish tunes in a shitty bar, isn't it obvious?”

 _Hmph,_ breathed the manager of the club, Reginald Wyoming, to the left of who Wash would label an intruder.

York smiled weakly.

“Sorry 'bout that.”

Wyoming huffed and walked back to his office.

Turning back to the duo, York noticed the pair's eyes drifting beyond him. He swiveled around as the renegade approached.

“What are you doing here?” Tex asked in genuine surprise.

“Came for the show, don't you know I'm a huge fan of...” York leaned to the left to see the logo of the band on the bass drum just past Carolina.

“The Freelancers? Who the fuck came up with that?”

“He did.” Carolina smirked, nodding behind him.

York spun around to find himself face to face with a tall, blonde, and strikingly good lucking guy who could only be in his early twenties. Piercing blue eyes and a large nose detailed his face, York taking in his features as the two stared at one another. The man looked down and back up, offering his hand to the other.

“How ya doin? Nik Novak. Or just: North. Good to meet you, dude.”

Regaining his composure, York smiled and shook his hand.

“Wes York, likewise.”

The two turned back to the rest of the group, who were staring at the supremely smiling York.

“Don't you guys have, like, music to play? Better get to it if you wanna get paid, right?”

 

* * *

 

 

“York, listen, you've had your fun, made all your shitty jokes, so why are you still hanging around here?”

York continued looking at the stage as he answered his younger brother.

“Taking in the view.”

“Taking in the view? Bullshit, you've just been staring at.. at...”

Wash trailed off as he followed York's line of sight to North setting up the cymbals on stage.

“Oh, fuck no. Hell to the no.”

York looked down at Wash and furrowed his brow.

“What?”

“You think he's hot. Fuck, York, that's off limits- he's off limits, this is my band, and I'm not letting you jeopardize my fellow musicians because-”

“Yeah yeah, keep talking, moral compass. Here, hold this.”

York gave him his bottle and pushed off the bar counter he had been leaning on. Wash exasperatedly huffed, futilely attempting to follow his brother before the barman, Tucker, grabbed him by the shirt collar, berating him- not for drinking underage, but for choosing such a shitty brand.

York sauntered up the stairs and made his way around Tex, who was tuning her guitar, to lean against the stage wall while he watched North continue to assemble his set.

“Bonham or Starr?”

Not missing a beat, North answered while still screwing on the cap to his cymbal.

“Neither, Blakely.”

“Oh, so you're a jazz boy?”

“Among other things.”

York could swear he saw a slight smile creep onto the other's lips, for a fraction of a second.

“What about you? Bonham or Starr?”

“Neither, Moon.”

North turned and looked up at the brunette, whose crossed arms covered up his Pink Floyd graphic tee.

“Figured you'd say Mason.”

York grinned.

“You checkin' me out?”

“Sure, man.”

North turned back to his set, causing York to frown.

York sat on the other's stool, picked up his sticks, and started lightly tapping on the snare drum. North looked up, studying the alternating pattern.

“You play?”

“Only in bed.”

North stared at him blankly, lips straight.

“Right..”

The blonde man turned back to his work, leading York to get up and sidle off stage. He made his way back over to the bar, where he saw Tucker walking away from Wash to go serve another customer. Looking excited, Wash raised York's bottle to his lips, right as York grabbed it out of his hand.

“Thanks for holding it for me, bud.”

Throwing his hands in the air, defeated, Wash retreated back to the stage as a flurry of people entered the club from the left. York turned around on his stool to watch as they began their set. He tried -but failed- not look at the sun kissed hair of his brother's drummer, as he sat down and grabbed his sticks. Wash stood to the left of Carolina, bass in hand, while Tex put down her water bottle on the right side of the stage.

Getting the go ahead from Wyoming, Carolina smiled, approached the mic, and feigned comfort to try to combat her stage fright.

“Uh, high everybody, thanks for coming. Well, welcome to the show, we really hope you enjoy it. Lemme just introduce the band real quick: on lead guitar, we have the Southern belle turned smoking gun, Tex; on bass guitar, we have the quiet killer himself, Wash; on the drums, we have the perfect Aryan specimen, the incredible North,” the crowd laughed at that, as did North himself, and York found himself smiling at the blonde's gorgeous laugh, “And of course, we have me, lead singer, Carolina. Well, without further ado, we are The Freelancers!”

 

* * *

 

 

York hated to admit it, but they weren't actually half bad. Carolina could actually sing pretty well, Tex was a more than decent guitarist, Wash played bass fine but would be better with more practice, and North, well..

North stole the show.

Drum solos, flipping his sticks in the air, he was the pièce de résistance of the performance, at least in York's eyes. The crowd also seemed to really enjoy the set, and he smiled when he saw how much fun his brother was having. When the show ended, half the audience left, but the other half stuck around for drinks and food. Wash and Carolina were the first to come down and greet him.

“So hey, what'd you think?” She asked him, exuting confidence but hiding her vulnerability.

“I liked it, you guys are actually pretty good. And who know little Carry could sing.”

He reached to pinch her cheek but she slapped his hand away, laughing.

York smiled at Wash with genuine love, and offered him the rest of his beer. Excited, he reached out for it as Carolina grabbed it from his hand and brought it to her lips for a long sip. York exploded with laughter, and Carolina smiled at Wash's frustration with the two.

“I'm going to help put shit in the van.”

“Awwe, come on, we're just joking around...”

Their smiling plea met no one as he had already huffily walked away, trailing their laughter with him. Carolina looked back to York.

“I should probably go help him load up, anyways.” She offered the rest of the beer to him, but he put a hand up in declination.

“Nah yo, cooties.”

She laughed, saluted him lazily, and went to catch up with Wash. York turned back around to face the bar, ordered a Scotch and soda, and started reading his Twitter feed.

“Hey man, gin and tonic when you've got a sec.”

A man with a familiar voice sat down next to him, breathing tiredly and somewhat heavily. York looked to his left to see the drummer he couldn't help but stare at for the past hour. The man cracked his neck, settled for a moment, relaxed on his stool, and then cocked his head to the right, sensing someone's eyes on him.

 _The guy from before, Carolina's friend_ , he thought.

“Uh, hey.”

“Hey yourself.” York replied.

Attempting to avoid an awkward silence, North continued on.

“How'd you like the set?”

“You guys are pretty good, I must say I'm surprised that David's in with musicians of your guys' quality.”

“David?” North questioned in confusion.

“Wash- his real name's David. He's my little brother.”

“Oh, I didn't know that. You guys don't look all too similar.”

“We're foster brothers, grew up together since we were five and three.”

“Oh. I see. That's cool yo. You guys close?”

“We might not always act like it, but yeah, we're pretty close. He's always been my brother, even before we met, just neither of us knew it at the time. I love him a lot, I'd do anything for him. And that includes ragging on him when he's practicing out of tune in his room.”

North laughed at the comment, causing York to smile.

 _Such a gorgeous laugh_ , he thought to himself.

“So, I'm confused, do you actually play? I know I asked before but I'm not sure now because how would you know he's out of tune if you don't have a bit of experience in you? Unless you're just a devout bass lover, which is cool too.”

York smiled as he sipped his drink. He set it down as he answered, still facing forward but turned slightly towards the other man.

“I used to play bass in a garage band with some friends back in tenth grade. We were absolute shit, but it was a good way to pick up guys, tell 'em I was in a band. Worked for a while.” York chuckled to himself.

York didn't notice the small smile that took place on North's lips.

“Awh, come on, I'm sure for a high school garage band you guys weren't too horrible.” North joked.

York laughed to himself as he put down his drink, leaned slightly on the counter, and pointed to Tucker, who was serving a young couple at the left side of the bar.

“Ya see that guy, the bar guy? He was our lead singer.”

North laughed heartily, and York let out a steam whistle of chuckles.

The two continued to talk for the next hour, discussing music and recounting their high school experiences. It was almost midnight when Tucker came by, letting the pair know that they'd be closing up in just a bit, boss' orders.

Begrudgingly, the two slowly began to gather their things as they finished up their drinks. York turned to the drummer as he put his phone away.

“Hey, uh, listen. Before, when I came up and starting talking to you on stage.. I didn't mean to like, weird you out or anything. To be totally honest, it was kinda sleazy of me, but I didn't think about it like that at the time. So I just wanna formally apologize to you, both for being inappropriate, and for making an insinuation that you're clearly not.. into. Really though, I am genuinely sorry.”

North considered what he said, looking down, before shifting his gaze and making eye contact with the brunette, smiling at him.

“That means a lot to me, thank you for being so considerate. What do you mean an insinuation I'm not into, though?”

York could feel himself redden, and he was glad the purple lights distracted from it.

“Ya know, cuz like... I'm into guys, you're a guy, you're not into guys-”

“Woah woah woah, who said that?”

York stared at him, slack jawed, as the blonde smiled, laughing slightly to himself.

“A-are you? Into guys, I mean.”

“I'm... into everyone, theoretically. I'm demi-pansexual. So I can be into guys, and I have been before, but to answer your question, yes, I'm into guys.”

York blinked in awareness. Before he could remark on this new information, North spoke again.

“But uh, hey listen. Even though you're right, you were kinda sleazy before, it was kind of endearing, looking back on it. Plus, I had a really good time talking to you, you're really well-spoken but hide it with a boatload of snark. So uh, if you're interested, maybe like, we could get drinks sometime? Or grab some food? Hang out, get to know each other a bit. If, that is, you're.. comfortable, with going slowly...”

North trailed off into uncertainty. York realized that he'd probably faced rejection multiple times in the past due to his needing deep emotional intimacy before he could develop sexual attraction to his partner. Unassumingly, though, York was sort of the opposite of North's past romantic endeavors- sure, he enjoyed a fling every now and then, rushing into things he probably shouldn't, but he was patient, and, paired with his genuine interest in North, he knew that he would be able to take things slow, to see where things could go between the two.

“You might as well call me Jon Anderson, because the answer is Yes, I'd love to get together.”

North smiled, and the pair laughed. They left the bar together, and York waited with him for his cab for another fifteen minutes. Before leaving, North gave him his phone number, gave him a quick, warm hug, and said goodbye.

“It was really nice meeting you, York.”

“I can honestly say I feel the same, North. I'll text you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Sure, sounds like a plan. Have a safe trip home, goodnight.”

“Night,” York breathed, with a smile.

The cab drew away, and York began walking home. He began to laugh as he thought of Wash's reaction to what had just transpired.

The moon reflected on his leather shoes. Wind whistled through the streets like a locomotive.

York smiled again.

 

 


End file.
